Page 21 of My Vigilante Valentine

I tilted my head, arching an unimpressed eyebrow.

He took another step.

I smirked.

I see your dramatic loom and raise you zero concern.

Only two feet away now, he stared down at me, his dark eyes narrowed like he thought I’d actually cower from his dangerous vigilante persona.

Unfortunately for him, that ship had sailed, and I was fully on board.

I could practically hear his inner monologue screaming at him to look scary. I wasn’t sure who he thought he was convincing, but it sure as heck wasn’t me.

This man saved me.

Twice.

“Fine,” I said. “Don’t admit it. But I have questions.”

Did he just growl?

Men.

“Do you have a secret lair, or do you do all of your save-the-day prep work right there at that table?” I asked, casually jerking my chin toward his favorite spot.

No reaction.

“Do you fight crime full-time, or is this more of a side hustle? Can’t imagine it pays well, though, and my coffee ain’t cheap.”

Nothing.

“Do you ever use the swords?” I tried again. “Better yet, why do you even carry weapons after what I just saw you dowithoutthem?”

His eye twitched. Progress.

Excellent.

I grabbed my pen from my pocket, needing a fidget for my final attempt to break him. I tapped it against my open palm andlifted my chin. “Where’d you learn to do all that, anyway? Do you actually have superpowers? Okay, I need to know. Are you human?”

“Luna,” he snarled. It was a low warning that warmed me from my head to my toes.

“Are you trying to be scary right now?” I stepped all the way into his personal space just to see what he’d do. “Because it’s not working. At all. In fact, I’m pretty sure you heard what I said about you at the bank that day…”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “That wasn’t me.”

I snorted. “Sure it wasn’t. Look, I know you’ve ignored all of my other questions, but answer me this: if you’re not The Blade, does that mean you’re gonna stick around when the cops show up and give them an official statement?”

6

sucker punch

Luna’s question hung in the air between us, and I swore I could almost feel it in a physical way, pressing down on me just enough to prevent normal breathing.

I had no good answer for her. And worse—I didn’t even have a way to sidestep. No clever quip or smooth deflection.

She was right—of course she was right. The zip ties were a dead giveaway.

Even if I hadn’t moved the way I did, the simple fact that I carried restraints in my back pocket was enough to make anyone suspicious.

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